


All Tied Up

by Artifex_Verbum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Confessions, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifex_Verbum/pseuds/Artifex_Verbum
Summary: Martin has managed to take his boy hostage, along with Detective Arroyo. Things take an interesting turn when Malcolm dares an escape and only escalate from there as Malcolm later comes to realize that he'd rather not be set free.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Malcolm was quick, but not quick enough. He had the key, for one blissful, solitary moment. And then it was being wrenched from his hand by the vice grip of Doctor Whitly. The older man was above him, looming large and immovable, his body pressing down into Malcolm. They had wrestled over the key and Malcolm had ended up pinned to the floor, struggling to breathe, his fingers crushed as freedom was torn away.

"Oh, Malcolm," his father said disapprovingly. "I'm disappointed, but not surprised." Martin took the shining ring with jingling keys away and tossed it away. Being tethered to the wall by a chain, that was enough to ensure that he'd never get out. Helplessness spread through him like a brush fire, but it wasn't accompanied by the panic he had anticipated. Not as far as escape was concerned. No, he was panicking for an entirely different reason.

The glint in Martin's eyes shifted, darkened, and his breathing sped up. He shifted and Malcolm groaned. A beautiful blush crept up his neck and settled in his cheeks, even tinting his ears a rosy red. "I knew it," Martin sounded so smug. "I knew there was a reason you've been so careful to avoid physical contact with me."

"G-get off," Malcolm squirmed, but it only served to add friction to his arousal.

"I don't think that's what you really want."

Martin's smile hovered above him. He had expected a reaction, just not this reaction. To his disbelief, his father was shifting, pressing his own arousal against the profiler's. A squeak erupted from the young man who's attempts at getting away were becoming weaker and weaker.

He couldn't turn his head, he didn't dare look over to Gil who was also affixed to the wall. Chained, hands behind his back in cuffs. Sat up on his knees, staring at the scene before him with abject horror.

"I'm sure that you've confided in Detective Arroyo a lot over the years," Martin ground his hips into Malcolm and he threw his head back. "But I bet you've never told him about this...have you?"

He couldn't answer. The 'no' was trapped behind the cage of his teeth. His chest rose and fell so quickly that he feared hyperventilation. He didn't even put up a fight when Martin turned him and re-secured the cuffs behind his back, before returning him to being flat beneath him, staring up. "Do you wake with my name on your lips Malcolm?" The smugness in his tone was unbearable. "When you do, are your boxers ruined?"

"Stop it you sick fuck," Gil spat. "This isn't his fault."

"Isn't it?" Martin's head turned to regard his other captive.

"No! His body is having a reaction to physical stimuli...it has nothing to do with you."

"Oh, you sound so sure," the surgeon moved, sitting back and undoing the button and zipper of Malcolm's pants swiftly.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Gil surged forward, but the chain held him fast. He watched as Martin yanked Malcolm's pants and boxers down, took off his shoes and socks, and then pulled them the rest of the way off. He was trying so hard not to see what Martin had exposed. Still, in the corner of his eye he caught the jutting arousal of the young man laid out on the concrete floor.

Malcolm's eyes were screwed shut, the floor was cold against his naked ass, he couldn't process this, he couldn't handle it.

Martin had sat back, hands up in front of him to demonstrate that he was doing no touching. But Malcolm didn't see. He couldn't bear to open his eyes.

"My boy," Martin cooed. "My precious, beautiful boy. I don't think I've ever seen anyone more delightful...and to think...you're all mine..." the words started off in a normal tone and slowly descended into a growl. Malcolm couldn't help his reaction, the rise of his hips, the twitch of his cock, the dribble of precum that leaked from his arousal.

"Would you look at that?" Martin said to Gil. "His body is reacting and there is no physical stimulus present."

Gil's whole body was shaking now. Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks but he held them back.

"I know that you want to see the best in my boy, you couldn't stand it if he were as warped as I am, could you?"

"He's not. He's not a killer."

"Oh, I don't know. I think he's at least a sociopath - whatever he is, he's not normal, thank god. And here he is now, writhing beneath my gaze."

“You - you didn’t even get the chance to raise him,” Gil spat.

"Oh, but I was around just long enough wasn’t I?" Martin purred. "And I think that this neurosis goes all the way back, don’t you?" Gil didn't answer. "I bet he's even turned a lustful eye towards you, hasn't he?" Gil's heart was now skipping beats and sweat gathered at his forehead. His mind shot straight back to an incident when he had visited Malcolm at Harvard. The young man was drunk and high and draping himself over Gil, pleading...

Martin leaned forward, hunching over the young man, his breath ghosting over his arousal.

"Don't!" Gil shouted. "You're going to break him. This will shatter his mind."

"Will it?" he stuck his tongue out and swiped up the leaking cock before him. Malcolm whined. "Or will it finally put to rest Malcolm's demons? Will it finally give him some relief? Some rest. The ability to stop hiding his...desires...from me. From you."

Malcolm was squirming, the cuffs digging into his back, his hands falling asleep. He was acutely aware that he had never said the word, "stop." Finally, he dared to open his eyes and look down. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Doctor Whitly, face hung above his cock, grinning wildly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died as the doctor began sucking his cock.

It had been so long since he'd had sex...since he'd been touched. And here he was, laid out in front of Gil, embarrassment burning through him as Martin lapped at his erection. His mouth was far too skilled... he pumped Malcolm in time with his mouth, kissing the head of his cock, pressing his tongue into the slit, holding the pulsing flesh as he peppered kisses all the way to the base and then licked his way back up. 

A litany of embarrassing sounds were slipping past his parted lips.

Then, Martin pulled off with a pop. He stared at the detective and a shiver slipped down Gil's spine. "I see that my boy isn't the only perverse one here," he chuckled, rising to a kneel and sliding towards his enemy.

"Don't you fucking dare touch me," Gil growled.

Malcolm watched the exchange with helpless interest.

Martin's hands were going to Gil's pants. The sound of the zipper was loud in the small space. Arroyo was looking at Malcolm with a mix of fear and arousal that he didn't know was possible. Martin was reaching inside, pulling out his cock. "Look who's hard..."

"Get away from me!" Gil shouted before spitting in the doctor's face.

Rather than get mad, the surgeon just swiped up the spit and scooted back to Malcolm. He held the spit in his right hand and turned the profiler with his left. Now, Malcolm's face was pressed against the cool concrete, his ass in the air. He could feel the hot gaze of the man behind him and couldn't help but let his legs fall further apart.

"Look at you," the gravelly voice said with awe. "So submissive. So ready." A solid hand grabbed his left hip and held him in place as a searing tongue pressed flatly against his most private area. Malcolm keened and Martin used Gil's spit to press a finger into him.

"Don't do this," Gil said brokenly.

"Why not? Because you'd rather it be you?" he asked Gil before sinking a bite into the pale globe of Malcolm's ass. All the body under him could do was moan and curse and press back onto the fingers.

Malcolm tried so hard not to beg. He didn't want to beg...but he so desperately wanted to demand more.

"Would you look at your friend?" Martin grabbed Malcolm by his hair and sharply turned his head. He was forced to take in the sight of the detective, on his knees, cock jutting out from his open trousers, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

The sight alone ripped a long moan from Malcolm, who's cock twitched and dripped onto the floor.

"Look how much you turn him on," Martin added.

Malcolm waited with bated breath for the doctor's jealousy to surge, for him to lose it and hurt Gil, but that wasn't happening. He had to know why...

Now there were three fingers inside of him, stretching him open as another hand was rolling his balls. He could barely form the question let alone get it past his lips, but he managed. "W-why aren't you...jealous...?"

Martin only laughed in response. A hearty, deep sound that reverberated through Malcolm's spine and threatened to bring him to orgasm. "Oh my boy...you can be aroused by others and visa versa...but you will always be mine. You belong to me. It's written into your soul, as indelible as if it were etched into your bones."

He hated that he moaned in response. Martin's fingers disappeared.

"So you need two father-figures. Who am I to judge?" he was yanking Malcolm up, turning him around so that he'd be on his knees facing him. Their noses were just inches apart.

Something sick twisted in Gil's gut, but he couldn't drag his gaze away. He knew what was coming and it should make him vomit. It should kill his hard-on. It should make him scream. But he was silently stunned into place, watching Martin kiss Malcolm.

The kiss was bad enough...but the way that Malcolm opened his mouth and groaned into it...the way that Malcolm leaned forward when Martin pulled back...the keening noises that the young man was making...the way he was licking the killer's tongue and biting his lip...

That was the hardest thing to see.

And Martin knew it.

The surgeon broke away and stood. He grabbed Malcolm by the back of the head, threading his fingers through the fine chestnut hair and dragging his face towards the tent in his prison uniform. Malcolm mouthed against it, eyes closed, nostrils flaring.

"Here's what's going to happen," Martin said, petting Malcolm's hair like he was a pet.

"I'm going to fuck him as he sucks you off," Martin informed Gil.

"I- that's not...I don't want this."

"Yes you do detective," he gave that shark grin that turned bone to liquid. "You want it. And you're going to get it. And from this moment on, every time you see Malcolm, you're going to remember the way his body shakes as I push into him. You're going to hear his pleas for more. See his lips wrapped around your cock, eyes staring up at you through those lashes. You're going to feel how badly he wants you, and you're going to acknowledge how desperately he needs me."


	2. Chapter 2

Freedom was a long forgotten thought. There was no getting out of this without satiating the monster's twisted appetite for flesh. It wasn't quite the 'fleshy' appetite that Malcolm had expected, but he was grateful that Martin didn't seem to have any plans of ending Gil's life...yet.

Still, the trick now was to keep Martin distracted for as long as possible in order to give Dani and JT the time they needed to find them. Malcolm tried to reign in the haze of lust and shame he felt and think logically. It wasn't an easy feat and with each passing thought, with each step deeper into logic, his feelings twisted and clashed. He was so conflicted that it was physically painful.

He did want Dani and JT to find them...to rescue Gil...and him, he supposed. But he didn't want to unleash the consequences that a rescue from Martin would entail. What would happen to Dr. Whitly? Would he end up in solitary indefinitely? Would he be moved to another facility? He couldn't cope with how much he simultaneously resented and worried for the monster whose hand was sunk into his hair.

He didn't want to finally be forced to acknowledge the darkest shadows that lurked behind his already fractured soul. Gil was right - this was going to break him.

A sob leaped from his lips and he closed his eyes with embarrassment.

"Oh, Malcolm," Martin said in the tone reserved for skittish patients or scared puppies. The profiler wanted to be insulted, but all he felt was the warm wrap of blanketing relief. "What is it my boy?" the hand at his hair loosened and tears began spilling down his face.

"You're about to rape him and you're asking why he's crying?" Gil shot.

A low grumble erupted from the dissatisfied serial killer, "I didn't ask you," he hissed. It was a tone that sent a rattling shiver through Malcolm's entire body. "Speak again without permission and I'll slice out your larynx," the words cut just as sharp as a knife and Gil closed his cracked lips.

"Tell me what you're thinking, my boy. Tell me why you're crying..." Martin kneeled once more, framing Malcolm's face with his strong hands.

How could Malcolm even begin? What could he possibly say? I want you to let Gil go, not open his eyes to my sexual advances towards him? I want to be rescued, but I don't want it to get you killed or transferred, I don't want to lose my visiting privileges, and I'm not sure why I even care what happens to you? I want you to keep touching me, I want you to fuck me, and I cannot even begin to process that? 

That last thought made the profiler squirm, his erection bobbing against nothing but air, a blush continuing to roar through his hot flesh. He shifted his shoulders, desperate to get his grimy dress shirt off.

"Okay," Martin continued, despite not having an answer. "It's alright my boy, you don't have to tell me why you're crying if you don't want to," his hands were reaching out, fingers deftly beginning to unbutton Malcolm's shirt as if he were a mindreader. "You do look so beautiful when you cry though," he pushed the shirt off Malcolm's shoulders and swiped away some of the tears.

Martin brought a switchblade from his pocket and pushed the little metal button upward, the swoosh of the blade filling the air. To Malcolm's surprise, he wasn't even afraid when his father brought the weapon out. "You know that I'd never hurt you my sweet boy," Martin assured, maneuvering Bright so that he could slice the fabric on his arms and pull the shirt away for good. Malcolm just hung his head and hiccuped another pained sound. He wanted so badly to tamp down his arousal, to retreat to the *before* when he managed to keep his predilections towards his father securely chained to the back of his skull.

There was no going back from this. His arousal was evident, his secret was out.

Martin returned to kneeling before him, his hands running up Malcolm's pale thighs. They began to shake. "Sweetheart," Martin cooed. "I know why you're crying," he said with dawning realization. Malcolm tried to steady his breaths and control his hiccuping heartbeat. "You're torn. So very torn. I understand. I'm torn too," he admitted.

"How can someone with no conscience be conflicted about anything?" Gil said. Martin's jaw snapped shut and fury filled his eyes. Malcolm saw the reaction in slow motion and scooted forward, moving his upper body to bring the focus back to him. "Don't hurt him," Malcolm begged. Martin's hard eyes returned to his wet ones. He needed to do better than just plead. "Tell me...why...why are you torn?"

Martin's features softened just a bit. He swallowed. "Because my boy, I see this desire in you. The desire for me. And it'll be easier on you if you can replay this moment and justify that I started it. That I was the impetus and not you. But I. Am not. A rapist."

"Really?" Gil spoke, again pushing his luck, determined not to be silenced. "And you think he wants this?"

Martin's mouth opened, his knuckles tightened on the switchblade. He was about to act.

"I-" the single syllable hung in the air and Gil and Martin remained suspended with it. Malcolm forced himself to continue. "I...I do want this," he said in a small voice, glad that he could stop Martin from slicing out the detective's tongue.

Gil's entire world shifted and he wondered if he ever even knew what reality was. "No, no, you're just saying that...saying that to protect me...to get us out of this..."

Malcolm swallowed and hung his head. He wondered if it was possible to drown in shame.

Gil knew Bright well enough to know that the words he had spoken were, in fact, the truth.

"My sweetheart," Martin brought his forehead to Mal's. "How long?" he dropped the blade, tossing it aside. "Tell me," his hands skated up Malcolm's chest, thumbs stopping to play with his light pink nipples. The young man squirmed, his cock twitching, and he buried his head in Martin's neck. He sucked in a deep breath and memorized the way that the gray curls tickled his face. His chest heaved as he let out more sobs. He never asked to be broken in this way. He had never been abused as a child, Martin had never come at him sexually, and it made him that more ashamed that all of this was his own mind's machination. His dreams of both Martin and Gil had reached impossible heights and it wasn't something he could even discuss in therapy.  
Martin never expected this turn of events, but he certainly wasn't dismayed by it. He would do whatever was necessary to relieve his suffering boy. And if he got to destroy Gil in the process - all the better.

"If you want me to touch your aching cock..." Martin started, hating to use what he already wanted as leverage, and Malcolm ceased his crying to pull back and look at him. "You need to tell me how long. Did it start with dreams my boy? How old were you?"

"I-I can't," Malcolm shook his head, unable to say the words out loud, to make it any more real or shameful than it already was.

"Puberty?" Martin's fingertips traced down his abdomen. "I'll say a number and you nod 'yes' when it's right. Okay?"

Malcolm gulped and nodded.

"Seventeen?"

He didn't nod.

"Sixteen? Fifteen?"

No nod.

"Fourteen? Thirteen?"

Nothing.

"Twelve?"

A nod.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

Martin steadied himself by bringing his hands back to his own body, digging his fingers into his thighs. He was so hard. So very hard. He peered over at Gil, not even managing the shit-eating expression that he had dreamed of. He looked back at his boy. "And when did you start thinking of Gil...sexually?"

Was this torture ever going to end? Malcolm bit the inside of his mouth, worrying the soft flesh between his teeth. He didn't want to answer. "P-please," he tried. "Please just touch me..."  
Martin's eyes slid down his body like nails dragging down flesh and Malcolm shuddered. He brought his hand close to Malcolm's erection, but didn't touch it. It was so close that he could feel the heat radiating from it. Malcolm whined in distress.

"Just tell me, and I'll get on with it. I promise. I'll take such good care of you sweetheart."

Malcolm whined again, his eyebrows sloped upward helplessly. He wanted that hand around his cock so bad...so bad.

Martin could sense his desperation and he was getting drunk off it. "Does it turn you on Malcolm?" he whispered. "To imagine these hands wrapped around you? These hands that have penetrated blood and bone and flesh to save lives. These hands that have squeezed flesh to end lives?"

He shook uncontrollably now, the sound of his handcuffs and chains rattling filling the air.

"How badly do you want me to press into your tight little hole?" Martin purred. Malcolm's mouth fell open with a moan and his hips bucked, trying to get his cock to make contact with Martin's hands, but the doctor moved his palm just in time. "How badly do you want your mouth stuffed with Gil's cock?" A different type of sob was wrenched from Malcolm. His head turned to regard the Lieutenant, eyes dropping down his body and coming to rest at his still full arousal.

"How old were you when you started fantasizing about Gil? About your hero? Your mentor?" the words stung his tongue and lips, but he forced them out anyway.

Gil observed Malcolm, he could feel every emotion radiating off him in waves...every emotion including arousal.

He brought his head back to Martin. "If I tell you - you won't get jealous? Or mad? You'll...you'll touch me? You promise?"

"Yes."

"Fourteen," Malcolm's blush intensified.

"Oh, I so wish I could kill him..." Martin said sadly, in the same tone that someone might use if they were standing in line in a bakery watching the person in front of them getting the last eclair. Malcolm's eyes snapped to his, huge with terror.

"If you did...I would shatter to a thousand pieces. I would...I would never speak to you again. I'd never...never let you...f-fuck me."

"I know," Martin said sadly. "And that's exactly why I won't."

Relief warmed Malcolm like a hot shower and he thanked god, still wary of just how trustworthy Martin's words were. He needed to shift Martin's focus...get him back to the task at hand.  
"I - I need you ," he said brokenly - hating how true the words were.

Martin grabbed him by the back of his neck and he moaned, his head going back, the column of his throat exposed in such a submissive display. Martin brought his lips to Malcolm's pulse point and began kissing in earnest, sucking and biting viciously until tears gathered in Bright's eyes. He stopped, caught his breath and turned towards Gil. "He's mine. MY boy," he punctuated each word. He then gripped Malcolm's chin and brought it level to his face. "Who...who do you belong to boy?"

"You," he replied instantly.

"And who do you want to fuck your ass Malcolm?"

He was panting now, tears still sliding down his face. "You, daddy," he broke, the words burning like fire on his tongue.

"He can't consent to jack shit under duress," Gil grit. "When they rescue us and this is done, you *will* be charged with rape."

Martin ground his teeth together, the gears in his head turning. That just wouldn't do.

"Fine. Then I guess we'll have to get rid of the duress," Martin moved to get behind Malcolm. Perhaps he had been overtaken by insanity, but he would not be considered a rapist for simply giving his boy what he wanted, what he needed.

"W-what are you doing?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm letting you out of your cuffs sweetheart...so that I can press my cock into you...sans distress." The metal at Malcolm's wrists clanked and then fell away, hitting the concrete floor with a clang. His hands were no longer secured to one another, and his body was no longer tethered to the wall by a chain.

Malcolm's huge eyes stared at Gil. The conflict churning in his chest was unbearable now that he was free. The tears returned due to the overwhelming confusion. He belatedly realized that he *had* wanted his father to force him into this because it was easier to justify. Now, whatever would happen was, in a way, up to him, and he knew - knew- what he wanted. What would Gil think?

Martin could feel his boy thinking and panicking, so he returned to face him and pulled him in, making him straddle his lap, rubbing the naked arousal against his clothed cock as he kissed him. It was a hungrily rough display of dominance that involved plundering Malcolm's mouth, exploring every corner, sinking his teeth into those reddening lips. He split Malcolm's lip with his teeth and lapped at the blood. Malcolm's response was to wriggle in Martin's lap and claw at his chest, groaning as the older man sucked at the cut. He finally had to pull away.

"You have the most beautiful cocksucker lips," Martin beamed, running a thumb over them.

Malcolm felt the seams of his sanity pop, the stuffing of common sense spilling out like cotton.

Whitly looked at Gil, "I bet the lieutenant has been waiting for them." He brought his hands to Malcolm's back and ran them over his flesh. "It's time my boy. You'll be in my hands, such good hands. I'll guide you through it, my sweet boy - so obedient. Are you ready for my cock to fill you?"

He nodded 'yes,' unable to bring his eyes to meet either Martin or Gil. He wanted so desperately to please both Martin and Gil and knew that wasn't possible. It was tearing him asunder, so rather than analyze and face his desires or the myriad of choices before him, he simply caved into the clawing need for release. His cock beat in time with his heart and he wanted Martin to touch him so badly.

"Lie down on your back," Martin instructed. He obeyed. His head tilted towards Gil with an apology in his eyes.

"Gil - I..." his voice was filled with tears.

His mentor gulped, shaking his head, "It's alright Malcolm," he soothed.

"It isn't. You'll never...see me the same," his chest shook. "I can't please both of you," he cried, "I'm sorry. I just...I just want..." he stopped, words falling away as he let his legs fall open. 

Martin purred appreciatively before getting down on the floor, on his belly, and hooking his hands around Malcolm's thighs, pulling him towards him. He buried his face in Malcolm's balls and the young man screamed, back arching. Martin licked and kissed and sucked at his sack, tracing the seam with his tongue, as he began stroking his cock. Malcolm wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he buried them in Martin's curls, pulling sharply as his arousal was next engulfed by that lying tongue.

He couldn't help but buck up into the heat of Martin's greedy mouth and beg for more. He stared down, watching his cock disappear and reappear, engulfed by Martin's stretched lips. He cried out when Martin stopped, until he realized that the older man was climbing up his body and undoing his own pants. He snapped his hips upward, heady desire making his flesh rise with goosebumps as his naked cock slid against Martin's. "Daddy," he groaned, watching Martin bring his hand to Malcolm's lips and press two fingers inside. Malcolm sucked them earnestly, feeling the swirl of his fingertips catch against his tongue.

The fingers disappeared, and Martin slid back down his body. He was parting Malcolm's cheeks, rubbing a thumb over Malcolm's hole and Malcolm had to throw an arm over his face to hide, but there was no hiding. He was on the floor, writhing and naked, begging to be fucked by his father in front of Gil.

"Look at me boy," Martin said softly. He let his arm fall away and lifted his head. Martin's eyes gleamed as he pressed a finger inside of Malcolm. He watched for as long as he could.

"I - need to come."

"No my boy, not yet," came the answer. "Not until your mouth is latched onto the lieutenant's cock and mine is pulsing inside of your ass."

He arched off the floor, groaning, head lulling to take in the sight of Gil as Martin pried him open with his fingers. "I...I want to taste you," he confessed to Gil. "I want you to come down my throat."

"Malcolm...please..." Gil gritted. It was a false plea for him to stop and Malcolm knew it. He could see the starved want in Gil's warm brown eyes. He watched the older man squirm, his dark cock leaking on his trousers.

"Please hurry," he gripped the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm.

Martin couldn't wait anymore either. He rose, his face shiny with spit at having blown Malcolm. He had gotten three fingers into the young man. It wasn't enough, but it was going to have to be. He shifted, got on his aching knees and turned Malcolm. "Get on your hands and knees boy," the command sank warmly through Malcolm, moving thick and warm like syrup. He did as he was told, facing Gil, burying his face in the lieutenant's zippered sweater at his stomach. He rubbed his face against the soft fabric and moaned, breathing in the familiar cologne that quieted his panic. "I wish...I wish I could run my hands through your hair," Gil said.

"Me too."

Martin's hands were on his ass, kneading his flesh, and his legs shook.

He felt the doctor crowd behind him, pressing his legs apart, the thick cock settling in the crevice of his ass. Martin's long arm reached out and his hand grasped the back of Malcolm's head at his hair. "I want you looking up at Gil as I press into you. I want him to see the ecstasy on your face sweetheart, so he can remember the rapturous gleam in your eyes as you swallow him down. Can you do that?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good. Good boy."

Malcolm's eyes fluttered, desperate to shut against the warmth that such praise seared him with.

Martin stared down at the pert ass in his hands. His fingers dug into the flesh, dimpling the perfect surface. He knew that ten perfect finger print bruises would form, and it only made him leak more. He rubbed his cock head over the circle of muscle and began slowly pressing inside.

Gil couldn't stop looking at Malcolm who never tore his eyes off him, staring up through those long lashes. His mouth opened farther as Martin began pressing inside, punching the air from his lungs. Malcolm's cock wept as his breath stuttered. He could feel every inch of Martin's cock, the dig of his fingers in his flesh, the weight of his inferno gaze.

Finally, Martin was fully seated inside of him. And Gil's eyes flicked to witness the monster, his head thrown back in bliss, mouth parted in a moan.

"So good," Malcolm stuttered. "You feel so good," he trembled.

"Ah," Martin was shaking as well.

"Can I...suck Gil off now? Please?" Malcolm asked.

Martin's head lowered, eyes sliding open languidly. He pulled out almost all the way, the round of his cock head catching on the lip of Malcolm's hole, before slamming back in. Malcolm howled, out of pleasure or pain or both.

"Yesss," Martin hissed. "Suck him boy."

Malcolm's head lowered and he brought his lips to Gil's arousal. He started with just the head, wrapping his lips around it tightly and pressing his tongue into the slit. Gil didn't want to react, but he couldn't help it. He groaned.

It was amazing how Martin had managed to corrupt his own son with his perversions, and now had dragged him into a sexual situation that he never would have deigned possible. But was it? Martin's fault? Or was Malcolm the spark? The more Gil learned, the more Malcolm seemed like the start to the sexual charge between him and Martin. He. Wanted. This. It was a truth he could hardly stomach. And just as bad...he wondered if he, himself had maintained feelings for Malcolm all this time. Logic wanted to scream 'no,' but the comfortable lie couldn't stand up to the truth. He didn't want to admit it, but when Malcolm had climbed on top of him in college, he barely. barely. had the strength to grip the young man's hips, lift him, and deposit him on the sofa next to him. He could hardly walk away.

After that incident, Malcolm haunted his dreams in a very sexual way and shame almost buried him in a crisis of conscience. He practically raised the boy and he couldn't...come to terms...with his desire. Which is why, right now, he could sympathize with Malcolm in a way. But to find out...that Malcolm had lusted after him for seventeen years... it almost short circuited his brain.

Malcolm began sucking him in earnest, head bobbing, saliva dripping down Gil's shaft. Arroyo's mouth was open, eyes trained on Bright hard at work. He felt every thrust of Martin's, pushing Malcolm forward to gag on his cock. It was obscene and by far the hottest thing that Gil had ever participated in.

"Take him further down your throat honey," Martin instructed. "All the way to the base. You can do it."

Gil shot an angry look at Martin. "N-no, it's okay, you don't have to..."

But Malcolm did it anyway, breathing deeply through his nose as he took the length farther into the cavern of his mouth. The salty cock hit the back of his throat and he moaned around it. Gil felt his balls tighten and he wanted so badly to put his hands on Malcolm in loving encouragement. "Malcolm," he moaned. "So good, you're doing so good," he soothed, watching his words ripple through the young man who was so desperate for it. "You should stop...I'm...going to come," Gil could barely get the words out.

"Don't you dare stop," Martin instructed. "Swallow him down. Drink up his come, my boy." The words tore through Malcolm, who was so turned on that nothing else existed but this moment, this perfect instance of being speared between Gil and Martin. He hummed again and Gil began to groan and spill down his throat. He pulsed over and over and Malcolm just kept swallowing. He couldn't trap it all though, and some come slipped from the corner of his burning mouth. He finally pulled off and Gil took in the sight.

Malcolm's lips were red and swollen, his come trickling down his chin. His eyes were huge, but hooded, and his hair was disheveled, pieces falling into his face. A pink flush filled his cheeks and slid down his neck towards his chest. His nipples were hard and his mouth sucked in air.

"Such a good boy," Martin echoed. "You did so well. Was it as good as you had imagined all these years? Since you were just a teenager?"

"Guh - yes," Malcolm confirmed.

Martin pulled out of him with a pop and he panicked, wondering if he'd said or done something wrong. "I'm - sorry. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," Martin cooed. He re-positioned Malcolm, pushing him gently on his back. "I just want to see your face when you come. I want to bend you in half and watch your cock bounce as I slam into you."

"Fuck," Malcolm breathed, shocked at how dirty Martin was.

"But a stomach is such a waste for your come, so here's what's going to happen. I'm going to fuck you - hard and fast - and fill you up. You're going to be a good sub and hold your orgasm until I'm done. Then you're going to come down my throat."

Malcolm thought he might die. Actually die. From anticipation. Some unholy sound tore from his throat but he nodded fervently, bringing his legs up, holding them behind his knees.  
Martin lined himself up, wishing he had more time or resolve to be able to tease and draw it out, but he was dying. He pushed in and folded Malcolm in half. The young man could scarcely breathe, but he didn't care. Every thrust sent jolts of pleasure tearing through his body. "Please," he begged, uncertain if this would be the only time he got this. "Can you..."

"What? Tell me Malcolm. Whatever it is, I'll do it," he answered, balls slapping against Malcolm with every push.

"Choke me," he said.

Martin growled, a hand flying to Malcolm's neck. The young man's eyes nearly rolled back in his head with pleasure. "Harder daddy," Malcolm breathed through his constricted throat that still burned from Gil's come.

"Fuck," his rhythm was faltering. He could feel the lieutenant's eyes on them and it only made him hotter. He crashed into Malcolm's lithe, muscled body, and could no longer refrain from coming. He sobbed as he began to spurt inside of Malcolm, feeling the rush of come pulse out of him. It only wetted his way even more, slicking up the channel for his last few thrusts.

His grip on Mal's neck loosened and he sat back, breathless. There was no time to recover though, Malcolm needed to come. He bent and took the young man in his mouth, as far as he could go, and used his hands to amplify the pleasure. With his right he twisted and tugged Malcolm's balls. With his left, he pushed two fingers inside the come filled hole and crooked them upward.

Malcolm screamed and came, filling Martin's mouth. The orgasm was so strong that his legs shook and his vision narrowed. Martin was drinking him down. Fuck. A litany of swear words poured from his lips as he pulsed the last of his come and he watched in fascination as Martin pulled off of him with a smack and licked his lips.

Now, Malcolm was a boneless heap of satisfaction. A lazy smile graced his face as he shoved the panic down and pushed it away for later, like leftovers forced to the back of a fridge. For now, he was sated and his mind was quiet - for once. Martin took off his sweater and slipped it onto Malcolm. Despite Martin's exhaustion, he managed to grab the cuffs and snap them back onto Malcolm's wrists. He secured the chain as well.

Shit, Malcolm thought. There went his opportunity for escape. He had a choice when those cuffs first came off...either hurt Martin/make a break for it...or be ravaged by the killer's cock like he had dreamed of since he was so young and first held his aching cock in his hand. He chose the latter. The implications of that were damning to delve into right now. No, now he needed to sleep.

"Wanna be wrapped up in your arms," he said. Neither Gil nor Martin knew who the remark was directed towards. It was probably for both of them. As Malcolm's eyes drifted closed, Martin gathered his pants and re-dressed his boy.

Gil's cock was spent, lying on his pants and his eyes were heavy as well. Once Martin had finished putting Malcolm's pants back on, he scooted towards Gil. Arroyo was too tired to move away. Martin grasped his cock, running his thumb over the silky flesh and to Gil's horror, he felt his arousal trying to resurge. "Maybe next time..." Martin whispered, "you and I can have some fun."

"I don't think so," Gil said sourly.

"Ah, well, can't blame a man for trying," he smiled, tucking Gil back into his pants and pulling up the zipper.


	3. Chapter 3

Malcolm must have drifted off, because when he awoke, Martin was over him, bringing a washcloth towards his face. "I...fell asleep?" Malcolm said in wonder, lifting his body after realizing that he had been leaning into Gil with his head resting on the older man's shoulder. The washcloth came to his cheek, soft and cool, and he leaned into it.

"You slept so well sweetheart," Martin radiated with happiness. Malcolm was shocked to realize that he'd just experienced the best night's sleep he'd had since he was nine years old. "You both did," Martin looked over at Gil. He stopped washing Malcolm's face long enough to twist around and grab something. It was a bottle of Ensure. He unscrewed the lid off and held one up to his boy's lips. "Drink up," he tilted the bottle and watched greedily as Malcolm's throat worked to swallow it down. When he was done, Martin got rid of the bottle and produce another - this time for Gil.

He scooted towards the older man and opened the bottle. Gil shot daggers at him with his eyes, but Martin ignored it and just tilted the bottle. Begrudgingly, Arroyo finished the bottle, and then asked for some water. Martin fetched it and fed half the glass to the cop before giving the other half to Malcolm. While he was retrieving the water, he had refreshed the washcloth as well.

Cool water dripped from the cloth's edge and Malcolm squirmed, waiting for it to descend upon his heated flesh. Martin pushed the sweater off his boy's pale shoulders and began dragging the washcloth down his chest. The profiler sighed and squirmed, eyes sliding closed. "You're so at peace," Martin noted, exploring the slopes and valleys of the body in front of him. "There's so much I want to experience with you," Martin said sadly. "I'm so scared that I won't have enough time."

"W-what do you...want to...experience?" Malcolm asked lazily.

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think about this situation while you and Gil slept," he left the washcloth resting on the rise and fall of Malcolm's chest as his fingers slid down Bright's chest, through the water gathered on his marble skin until they reached his fly. "I would love to do several things - bathing you and feeding you being one. Branding you would be another. Still, a third idea would be to put you in white boxer briefs...make you hard, get you all worked up," he purred as he palmed Malcolm, who had already been hard since the moment the washcloth had touched his face.

"And?"

"And force you to drink water, so much water. I'd watch you squirm for hours, begging to be let go. I'd cup you and squeeze before putting my hand on your abdomen and pressing down..."  
Malcolm's eyes were huge now, he was wide awake and hung on every syllable coming from Martin's lips.

"I'd make you spill, mess yourself, ruin the briefs and the bed before I'd stroke you and make you come. By the time I'd finish with you - you'd be a disaster. I'd take you into the shower and scrub you all up before rinsing you down."

Malcolm squirmed, he was so hard, rubbing his thighs together to relieve some of the pressure, but it only made it worse.

"But alas, we don't have an endless amount of time," Martin said sadly. "So I thought I'd move on to my next fantasy..."

"Which is what?" he was breathless and heady with anticipation.

"Oh, I would so enjoy the opportunity to spear you between Gil and I in an entirely different way than we'd done it before..."

Malcolm's head turned to regard the lieutenant. Part of him was sorry that he'd asked Martin, but the curiosity was too great not to. And unfortunately, the answer made him writhe. Martin's heavy hand was still hot on his erection and he tried to shamelessly rub himself off against the touch, but it wasn't enough.

"H-how? What do you mean in a different way?"

Martin smiled, wrinkles creasing at the corners of his eyes. He was thoroughly enjoying just how...bold...his boy was being. "Well...I would open you up with my fingers, slowly. When you were ready, I'd lower you onto the good Lieutenant's cock..."

Malcolm sucked in a shocked breath and let it out in a groan. His twisting into Martin's hand intensified.

"And then, then I'd position myself over you...line your cock up with my hole and sink down to spear myself on it."

Tears formed at Malcolm's eyes and he felt himself hyperventilating. He had never considered doing something like that, and now that his brain had processed the words coming from Martin's twisted tongue, he couldn't imagine *not* doing it.

"Every time you raise your hips, you'd fuck into me, and every time you sat back, you'd force Gil's cock further up your ass..." he purred.

Malcolm was bucking up more violently now, but Martin ensured that his touch wouldn't be nearly enough. With a gleam in his eye, Martin smiled over at Gil with a wicked twinkle in his eye. He noted how Gil's chest rose and fell quickly, the way his pupils swallowed up his irises, the parting of his lips. Turning Gil on with his own perversions was so surprisingly satisfying. He was thrilled at his corruption of the straight-laced lieutenant and Gil knew it.

"Would you like that sweetheart? Would you like to be trapped between your two daddies?"

A lengthy moan ripped from Malcolm's throat. His sanity had to be long gone because this was far past Stockholm syndrome. This was Martin putting words to the things that his subconscious desperately craved. This was Martin stripping down his defenses and exposing his every warped desire. There was no hiding - not from Martin, not from Gil, and not from himself.

Worse, Malcolm knew that Martin was dragging Gil into his convoluted world. Opening up Arroyo's eyes to things that he would never have otherwise seen. There was no undoing this, so why stop now? Malcolm's brain supplied.

"I bet you've thought of me fucking you countless times," Martin brought his other hand to cup Malcolm's soft, cool cheek. "But I'd guess that you'd never imagined you fucking into me...did you?"

Malcolm struggled to remember how to breathe, how to talk. Martin's fingers gripped his jaw tighter, pressing for an answer, quite literally.

"I...I did...only after I'd stabbed you," he admitted with shame. Shit. He really just said that aloud, didn't he? 

"Y-you stabbed him?" Gil queried in wonder. "No...you didn't...Jessica did." 

"Oh sweet Gil, so smart but so oblivious," Martin chuckled. "It was an easy enough lie to believe wasn't it? After all, Jessica's got balls. But so does Malcolm," his voice descended a notch. "Even as he penetrated me with that knife...I was so very proud of him," he stared at his boy warmly.

"So Malcolm, would you like to do it?" he asked. "Would you like to be fucked by good as you fuck into evil?"

He whined. "I...I'd never make Gil do anything..."

"Oh, sweet boy, look at him," Martin regarded the very disheveled cop. "He very much wants to fuck you. Don't you Gil?"

Arroyo swallowed and wondered what would happen if he lied. Would Martin kill him if he no longer had him as a weapon (or a toy) to wield against Malcolm? He wasn't sure of the answer and he didn't want to find out. Worse...he *did* want to fuck Malcolm. That shocking realization settled deep in the pit of his stomach like a heavy meal that wouldn't digest. This isn't how he wanted things to go. He had always thought of Bright as a son and now...now the lines were blurring and Gil knew that it had nothing to do with being kidnapped.

There were times before when the lines had threatened to blur and he forced them to snap back in their place. But there was no rearranging things now, no closing Pandora's box that had been violently ripped open by Martin.

"He so wants you Gil," Martin hummed. "So...what do you think? Would you like to slide your cock into Malcolm? Give him what he wants as he gives me what I want?"

Arroyo expected the world to implode, or time to halt, or his heart to suddenly give out. But none of those things happened. The question lingered between the trio, awaiting Gil's answer. His arousal was already jutting against his pants, answering for him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Gil..." Malcolm's eyes were wide and desperate. He was practically panting.

"Malcolm," Gil answered in a pleading whisper. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why not?" he twisted with a whine like a petulant child.

"For every obvious reason."

"Oh Gil...don't be so...conservative," Martin tsked. "Can you see how badly Malcolm wants this? Wants you?"

Arroyo fought against the unlacing of his resolve, but he could feel it slipping, sliding through his chained hands. His head was turned towards Malcolm and he had such a pained expression on his face. "This isn't how I thought our first time would be," he admitted, so quietly that Malcolm barely heard it.

Martin's eyes sparked with mad delight. "So you have thought about this," he purred. "Oh, Lieutenant," he raised his hand and cupped Gil's cheek, letting his thumb run over the coarse goatee. His lawful opposite only twisted his head out of the touch.

Malcolm felt the same giddy thrill in hearing Gil's admission. He had harbored feelings for the older man for so long. So. Long. But he'd never make another move, not after what he'd dubbed - the great college disaster of 2009. He still remembered that night with crystal-cut clarity. The incident haunted him.

During a particularly dreary fall at Harvard, he had opened his door to one Gil Arroyo. “Hey kid, from our last phone call, I thought you could use a pick-me-up,” he smiled. Under his arm was a box from Malcolm’s favorite bakery back home.

Unfortunately, Gil hadn’t given Malcolm warning that he was coming and Bright had decided to have some fun that night (for once). He’d let his pseudo friends take him out since they were bitching about him turning 21 the month before and not having had a proper celebration yet. So he went. He’d gotten high. He’d gotten drunk. Thank god he hadn’t taken home the young woman they were pushing upon him.

The night was a blur. But when he’d opened his apartment door to Gil, a wet wave of cold sobriety splashed him across the face. Still, he hung to most of his high. It gave him a feral bravery that didn’t wane as he ate the pastries with Gil, giggling, telling stories, inching closer.

He devoured the confections and enticingly licked sugar off his lip. He made eyes at Arroyo, letting his baby blues caress the flesh that he didn’t yet have the bravery to undress. He let his hands wander to the sweater-clad shoulder as he sidled up to him, perching on the arm of the chair Gil was seated in.

He recalled draping himself over Arroyo and saying a whole host of flirtatious things. He made his desire painfully clear... and as Gil's strong hands came to his hips, he'd felt such an electrified thrill bolt down his spine. That same thrill... promptly died as Gil lifted him, moved him off his lap and deposited him on the nearby cushion.

He was kind in his let down of Malcolm, but it tore the young man to pieces regardless.

His heart sank and sank, drifting low like a lead weight tossed overboard. He spent the next week in bed. He’d made a resolution to never. NEVER. Try anything with Gil ever again. He couldn’t handle the rejection.

And now? To hear that Gil...wanted him?

Wait, was that what he was hearing?

“Gil…” his voice sounded small and fragile. “Have you thought about this? Do you...want me?” the words twisted like barbs in his throat. It was a bad idea to ask. This whole endeavor was dangerous.

What if Gil fucked him and then later chalked it up to “duress?”

Great fissures of instability formed and widened within Malcolm.

He hadn’t answered.

“Do you want me Gil? Please...tell me…” his words were raw and bloody - filled with a hope that teetered on the edge of despair.

He wasn’t answering. Just parting his lips to close them again like a fish gasping for air.

“Malcolm, you’re so brilliant, but so blind sometimes,” Martin chined in. “You’re a profiler. You can read people. You can read Gil too you know.”

Malcolm’s eyes went to the killer, then back to his hero.

“I need to know Gil. I need to hear you say it.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” Gil shook with anger, head tossing an arrow in Martin’s direction. “He shouldn’t get to hear me tell you that I want you,” his eyes were watering; whether out of relief or anger, he didn’t know.

“So you do? Want me?”

“Yes,” he finally admitted.

“It’s about time,” Martin laughed. “How much time you’ve wasted Gil…” he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You could have spent the past decade burying your cock in my boy.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have killed me if I had?” Gil shot back, knowing instantly it was a mistake. Under no circumstance should he be admitting that Martin (or his retaliation) would even cross his mind.

“I have more to offer him, then you ever will,” he raged on.

“Careful Arroyo...your jealousy is showing,” Martin grinned. He reached around Malcolm and undid his cuffs once more. At the lieutenant’s words, Whitly briefly considered slitting his throat, but decided against it. He needed Gil alive so that Arroyo could fuck his boy’s ass while Malcolm fucked into his.

“Y-you’re letting me out again?” Malcolm asked surprised, bringing his wrists in front of him, to rub at the agitated flesh. “Are you going to let Gil out?”

“I don’t think that would be wise sweetheart,” Martin put his hands on either side of Bright’s face and drew him in for a brain boiling kiss. It even sounded obscene, the way they had to pull in air through their noses as their lips clashed.

Malcolm melted into it, allowing his body to be pulled forward as he chased the minty fresh taste inhabiting Martin’s mouth. He must have brushed his teeth since their last...encounter. He tasted so good and Malcolm wondered how he would taste and smell if...if they were home...if he had his soaps and cologne and whiskey. He wanted Martin to be able to inhabit every scent and flavor that he would if he were free. And then he wanted to spend weeks and months and years unraveling all of them.

Martin began undressing Malcolm in haste and once he was finished, he stood and began undressing himself. Malcolm watched as those expert hands peeled away the layers of clothing. And once his eyes were drunk off the sight, he turned them to Gil.

Gil’s mouth opened, words springing to his tongue, but promptly dying there as well. He wanted to say that he was under duress, being coerced. But was he?

Fuck...he did want Malcolm.

And the very last thing he wanted was Malcolm thinking that he was raping him. He wasn’t.

All of this was too much to handle. It was tearing open some cavernous wound in his chest and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to figure out how to heal it once this was all over. If Martin didn’t kill him that is.

“You should kiss him,” Martin breathed against Malcom’s lips. The young man nodded, turning to Gil.

“Can I?”

The tenderness was cloyingly sweet. How could Gil refuse? He nodded yes.

Malcolm brought his hands to Gil and ran his fingers through his hair. He slotted their faces together, nose against nose, and let out a strangled groan before capturing his lips. Again, Malcolm rued the fact that Gil didn’t taste how he ought, but the kiss was still amazing. The longer it lasted, the more desperate the exchange became.

Malcolm treasured it. Cherished the moment. Committed it to memory for the rest of his natural life. The little noises Gil made, the way his lips felt against his own, the flutter of his eyelashes, the speed of his breath. When he broke away, he found his hands going to Gil’s fly. He had the zipper halfway down before he stopped.

“Is this alright? Do you...do you want to fuck me?”

And just like that, Gil’s resolve had snapped.

“Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m sorry that you’re still...chained,” Malcolm uttered the last word distastefully. “I want you to be out. Free.” Gil raised himself to kneeling so that Malcolm could drag his pants and underwear to bunch just above his knees. “This can’t be comfortable for you,” he scrabbled to retrieve Martin’s sweater and put it under the lieutenant's sore kneecaps.

“I’m not...I’m not forcing you to do this am I?” Malcolm stared at him suddenly. “Are you just doing this because you’re trapped here with him and I?”

“No Malcolm, you’re not forcing me to do this,” Gil sat on his haunches, acutely aware of how naked he was, his arousal straining upward. He was careful to answer the first question but not the second.

If he wasn’t here with Martin and Malcolm would he be having sex wtih Bright? The answer was probably not. But only because of his own fear - the limitations he’d built up in the form of impenetrable walls. He’d spent more than a decade constructing those airtight barriers filled with reason and logic and excuses, and Martin tore them asunder in days.

He hated that man. But then again...hadn’t he also gifted him with the ability to finally admit things to Bright? To finally fuck him?

“D-do you have condoms?” Gil craned his head past Malcolm to ask Martin.

“No,” he answered quickly. “I haven’t had sex in twenty years, they tested me when I first got to prison and I was good. Malcolm gets tested regularly, because he’s a smart boy,” he smiled down at his boy. “Plus, I don’t think he has an abundance of sexual partners,” he petted the young man’s chestnut hair. “Thank god.”

After a breath, he lifted his gaze and aimed it towards Gil. “And you - you’re clean. Your wife-”

“Don’t,” Gil cut him off. His eyes were hard and cold, jaw clenched shut, fury rippling from him in waves.

Whitly raised his hands in surrender and Gil sat back, his feathers settling as he reigned in the anger. His cock remained unaffected, pulsing desperately as he tried to focus on Malcolm rather than Martin.

Malcolm scooted closer to him, nuzzling into his neck. His right hand wrapped around the side of Gil’s neck and he found himself soothed by the steady beat of his heart. He kissed his neck tenderly, feeling emboldened enough to begin searing a hickey onto the tan flesh.

Gil sighed, as if he’d been holding it in for a decade.

He tried to close his eyes, give into the sensations and focus on Malcolm, only Malcolm. The softness of his lips, the determination of his efforts in making the brand that would ornament his pulse point.

“Would you like me to stretch you open, Malcolm?” Martin asked, soothing a hand up Bright’s bare back.

Malcolm stopped making the hickey long enough to answer affirmatively. Martin positioned himself behind his boy and dragged his ass towards him while leaving his head and hands to do their work with the lieutenant.

Martin knew that he wanted to make short work of the preparation. He didn’t want either Arroyo or Bright to spook and back out of this. But he had to open up both Malcolm and himself. Luckily, he was more prepared this time.

He reached for his discarded pants and pulled out a cylinder of lube. Popping the lid open he poured some on his fingers and began lavishing attention on Malcolm’s ass. He kneaded his fingers in the soft flesh of his cheeks before finding that pink, puckered hole.

Martin knew that Malcolm was already so turned on. He didn’t want to push him over the edge by pressing against his perineum or rolling his balls, so he focused solely on stretching him open.

Once he had done a thorough job, Martin re-focused to himself. He cleaned his hands off and began working on stretching his own hole open.

When his warm digits left Malcolm gaping, Bright turned around. He watched as Martin cleaned his hand and then got on his knees, widening his legs.

Whitly’s eyes slid closed as his hand worked behind him. He could feel his boy’s eyes upon him, roaming hungrily over his flesh, memorizing the taut pull of his muscles as he strained to work behind him.

“I could - I could do it. Help you,” Malcolm offered, his words drunk with want.

“No sweetheart,” Martin answered breathlessly. He prepared himself too quickly and felt pain echo from this most intimate spot. Rather than change his tactics, he continued on, relishing the pain, desperate to get to the main event. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your eyeful when you slide your cock into me.”

Malcolm moaned, “please, I want to…”

“I know. Patience my boy,” Martin smiled, sliding a third finger into himself.

Torn, Malcolm looked between Gil and Martin. “Can you scoot closer?” he asked.

Martin obliged, scooting towards his boy and the lieutenant on knees that screamed in pain. His sacrifice was worth it though.

Malcolm had turned so that he was a fixed point between the killer and the cop, his hands reaching out to grasp both of their cocks.

“Ah...good, that’s good,” Martin encouraged. “I’m almost ready my boy. You’ve been so good, so patient,” he praised, watching Malcolm’s cock react in real time with a twitch. His eyes darted between his boy’s untouched arousal and the way that his pale hand worked on the lieutenant. The long tan cock wrapped in those slender porcelain fingers was mesmerizing.

It seemed that Malcolm wasn’t sure where to look either. He stared into Gil’s eyes, continuing to make sure this was alright. Then his eyes would drift down the older man’s body, to where his hand pumped him. He licked his lips and swallowed, head swiveling to watch his other hand squeezing Martin tight.

To say that he felt overwhelmed would be the understatement of the century. He had both of them in his hands...pulsing with desire...for him. The monster and the martyr both brought to their knees for him. Agreeing to things. Working together in agreement. For him.

Martin could scarcely catch his breath. Yesterday he’d feared that this was all an illusion...a drug-induced psychosis. He feared waking up alone in solitary, his pants messed. But it was real. His son’s hand around his cock was real and he could barely believe how much that simple hand was affecting him. Malcolm’s fingers were gathering up the precum that Martin had leaked and using it as lube. His fist was tight and warm and could have so easily undone him.

Whitly struggled to cling to his control. He imagined a whole number of boring and terrible things to keep himself from coming, but he knew that he could if he wanted. Even without Malcolm’s touch...he could come...just from that icy splash of Malcolm’s blue eyes spread over him.

Never had Martin imagined that, one day, his boy would be willingly fucking him. It was a wet dream come true; one that he couldn’t have scripted better if he’d tried. And Gil’s involvement was the proverbial cherry on top. Once the lieutenant fucked Malcolm...there would be no going back.

A blow job he could write off. Shrug away. Explain it into oblivion using the kidnapping as an excuse. But this...he had verbally agreed to fuck Malcolm. He was about to do it. And once he did, he’d have this indelible mark for life. He’d have to return to working with Bright knowing what he had, what he could have.

Jealousy threatened to surge, to derail the entire thing, but the thought of corrupting the lieutenant was too good to pass up. Plus, he’d meant what he said. Malcolm belonged to him. Always had. Always would.

“I’m ready,” Martin stopped and pulled his cock out of Malcom’s grasp.

“I’ve - I’ve never done anything like this,” Malcolm admitted to his kidnapper. “What if I hurt you?” Worry pulled at his features which only seemed to make his delicately angelic features even more breathtakingly beautiful.

“You won’t hurt me sweetheart,” Martin moved even closer, cupped his face once more and drew him into a burning kiss.

With his thumbs at the hinges of Bright’s jaw, he forced Malcolm’s face open further and swept inside with his insistent tongue. He angled Malcolm’s head to his left and let his eyes slip open slowly, looking past him, pupils fixing on Gil with the most predatory glare he could muster. The other man hid a shiver and kept eye contact, unable to rip his eyes away from the sick scene unfolding. The darkness swallowing up the light.

Martin devoured Malcolm in that kiss, pinning him open, flaying him alive, pulling his soul right out through his mouth, all the while searing Gil with his gaze. Without words, tongue too occupied plundering Bright’s mouth, he issued a silent warning with deadly implications.

He. Is. Mine.

By the time Martin pulled away, Malcolm was shaking. He swayed forward, but Martin ran a hand through his hair. Now wasn’t the time to continue a makeout session in front of Gil.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” his boy answered instantly.

Martin’s eyes crinkled with pride. He moved his large hands to maneuver Malcolm, his eyes returning to Gil. “You’re going to be on your knees - not sitting, but up.”

Arroyo hated that this fucker was giving him directions.

With a sneer, he observed Martin turning Malcolm so that the young man’s ass was in front of him. He nearly jolted right out of his skin when Martin touched his cock. A groan flew from his lips before he could leash it and a bolt of arousal rocketed up his spine.

He hated. HATED that his body had such a strong reaction to being touched by the sociopath.

“Oh,” Martin breathed with a gloating grin. “Would you look at that?”

“What?” Malcolm, who was on his hands and knees, looked at them over his shoulder and his lips parted. Seeing Martin and Gil so close was...something.

“Nothing dear, just helping line up Gil. Scoot back just a bit farther.”

Malcolm did as he was told and Martin grabbed the lube once more. He poured some on his hands and slathered it on Gil’s arousal, noting how Arroyo’s breath hitched and his pupils widened. He tugged on the impressive cock, pumping it a few times before pressing the head into Malcolm’s hole. It was a sight that made his own cock weep.

Bright moaned and pressed back until Gil was fully inside of him.

“Fuck kid,” Gil strained, desperate to use his hands but unable to do so.

Martin let Malcolm get used to the intrusion before breaking their little, two-person bubble. After a few minutes, Martin lifted Malcolm’s torso so that he was prostrate on his knees, like Gil.  
“I...can I be inside of you now?” Malcolm asked, his hands twitching at his sides.

“Yes, you can,” Martin kissed him. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” he lubed up Bright’s arousal first, then turned and scooted back. He parted his legs and let his boy stare at what he was about to have.

Malcolm grasped his ass and dug his nails in sharply to the ample flesh which elicited a hiss from Martin.

“Have you...done this?” Malcolm asked, pulling Martin back against him so that cock head bumped against his hole.

“Bottomed? No. I’ve had fingers and toys, but never a cock. This is just for you, my boy.”

“Ah, fuck,” Malcolm began to press in, not sure how he could do this without hurting Martin. He hadn’t opened himself up nearly as much as he’d opened up Bright, but the lube was helping.  
“Ev-ever since you stabbed me...I’ve wanted this...so badly,” Martin admitted, speaking the words against the cold floor.. His ass was in the air, forearms leveled before him, eyes closing to focus on the push and pull of Malcolm inside of him.

“Talk to me boy, tell me what you’re feeling,” Martin urged.

“F-fuck. Feels so good,” Bright rocked back onto Gil’s cock, letting the back of his head fall against his mentor’s chest as he stilled to stave off his orgasm. Martin writhed on his cock, desperate for friction. Gil kissed Bright’s temple and whispered encouragement into his ear.

Malcolm grasped Martin by the hips and began fucking with greater intent. “I feel so full,” he gritted. “I’ve waited for so long for your cock, Gil,” he cried. “Spent so many nights imagining you in bed with me, your arms wrapped around me as you filled me with come.”

Gil tried very hard to remain quiet during these...activities...but Malcolm’s words were too powerful. He allowed his mind to place him in Bright’s bedroom, fucking the young man against his egyptian cotton sheets, his restraints jingling with every thrust.

He moaned and watched his cock disappear inside of Bright. “I want that too,” he panted.

Malcolm’s movements were becoming jerky.

“And daddy,” he whispered the word as if to acknowledge its taboo nature - the fact that it ought to not be spoken while his cock was buried inside of the criminal. “Stopped seeing you for a decade...just to run...run from my guilt… run from my hatred of you...my love of you...run from this.”

Martin’s heart twisted, his chest tightening. He recalled those ten long years and how many times he had seriously considered suicide in his boy’s absence.

“As soon as I saw you again,” he shuddered, pausing to recall the way the sunlight had flitted through Martin’s hair, how his eyes shone with delight as his body turned towards him. “As soon as I saw you again, I wanted it so badly. Worse than before. I wanted you to bend me over your desk and spank me. Tear away my clothes and fuck me against your bookshelf. I wanted to crawl into that tiny bed and just...”

Martin clenched around Malcolm, encouraging this honesty, and the young man’s pace stuttered.

“Just what?”

“Just ask you to hold me.”

Fuck.

Martin strained his neck, head turning over his shoulder to look at his boy with hooded eyes. He tried to convey his love with that glance. His hope, his adoration. “I’d have given anything to be able to hold you.”

“I - I can’t. I’m not going to last…”

“It’s okay,” both Martin and Gil said at the same time.

“Sorry. I need to come.”

“Go ahead,” Martin soothed. “Fill me up.”

Malcolm did as he was told, digging his short, sharp nails into Martin’s hips as he began to come. His muscles contracted with every pulse and it had Gil uttering a string of swear words. Exhausted, Malcolm could do little more than collapse when he had finished, pulling his oversensitive cock out of the come filled channel.

“I’m sorry...I wish I could have lasted…”

“No sweetheart, you did wonderfully…”

“But neither of you came,” his voice twisted with distress.

Martin propped himself up on all fours and looked over his other shoulder at Gil. “I think I can remedy that,” he inched backwards, ass still on display.

Gil was forgetting how to breathe. He looked from Martin’s leaking hole to Malcolm helplessly. He needed to come so badly, he tried to force his body to come when Malcolm was, but he couldn’t get it done.

And now he stared at Bright on his ass, hands propping him up, eyes sparkling with interest.

“I will always be yours Malcolm,” Martin assured, referencing his earlier statement that he’d saved his ass for his boy. “And now that you’ve thoroughly debauched me, I’d like to let Lieutenant Arroyo use me to find his relief. If that’s alright.”

Malcolm’s cock twitched too soon and he hissed in pain. “Ah…” he nodded affirmatively. He had no qualms with sharing Martin, though he seriously doubted Gil would do what was being suggested.

“This...isn’t a good idea,” Gil finished weakly.

“Isn’t it?” Martin pushed. “Wouldn’t you like to ram into me? Punish me for all I’ve done?" 

“That isn’t...that’s not what this is…”

“It can be whatever you’d like it to be,” Martin purred. He backed up further so that Gil’s cock was sliding against his crack. “Who knows...maybe you’ll fuck some good into me.”  
Malcolm moved, scooted over, just a tad. And Gil realized that he had done so in order to get a better view. At that realization, he became so painfully turned on that he thought he might burst right out of his skin.

“Line me up Malcolm,” he found the words floating around them. They seemed to be in his voice, having come from his mouth. Malcolm was moving towards him before he could reconsider. His milky soft hand reached for Gil and guided him to Martin’s entrance.

Malcolm’s fingers barely had time to vanish before Gil’s hips were snapping forward. He buried himself fully in Martin in one swift thrust. The pace he’d chosen was brutal and quick and Martin only made it more torturous by clamping down around him with every push in.

Malcolm’s come leaked out of Martin’s hole and Gil tried not to think about the slick that was making it so easy to slide into the killer.

Bright was hard again but his cock was forgotten as his brain was too busy with the sight before him.

Gil was punishing. He looked angry with a noiseless growl painted upon his face. He slammed into Martin, his balls slapping against the other man’s. Rather than shy away, Martin only slammed back against him. Arroyo was punching the air from Martin, who had to grip the floor to keep from sliding. His face was angled towards Malcolm with a look of rapturous bliss.  
“You enjoy watching your daddy’s fuck,” Martin grinned.

Malcolm lost it. His cock began to twitch and spurt more come. He grasped himself mid orgasm, a pleasured look on his face so intense that it looked pained.

Both Gil and Martin watched him come undone and it was enough to undo them both. Gil shouted and began filling Martin, who was already full. Come dripped to the concrete floor, obscenely loud against the backdrop of their pants and moans. Martin grasped his cock, holding up his body with one shaking arm, and began coming onto the floor. His ass constricted, pulling the last of Gil’s orgasm from him.

After it was done, the three of them sat slumped, catching their collective breath. The room smelled like sweat and come, which mingled with the metallic industrial scent of the space. Martin moved first. He forced himself up, un-phased by the blood dripping from his torn knees. He wobbly walked towards Malcolm and pulled him up.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to take a shower,” Martin answered. He then turned his head towards Gil who’s spent cock was still covered with his own, and Malcolm’s come. “And then you and I are going to take one,” he smiled lazily.

Martin knew that his time with them was running out. Fear nipped at the back of his neck, but he pushed it away in favor of the thought of a warm reprieve under the shower head’s spray. If he was about to be caught, he certainly couldn’t return looking - or smelling - like this.

He guided Malcolm from the room. The young man turned his head to look at Gil before succumbing to the hand at the small of his back, urging him forward.

Malcolm’s mind, although tired and sated, was running through a thousand possibilities like a computer processor. What made the most sense would be for Martin to cut his losses and run. Leave him and Gil here, or let them go. But he wasn’t leaving. He knew the vice was tightening, the real world was encroaching. So why wasn’t he running?

“Shower’s this way,” Martin said, leading Malcolm into a bathroom with two stalls, two urinals, two sinks and a shower in the corner.

“What is this place?”

“Well...it was a factory,” Martin reached to turn on the water, his hands going to the dials to adjust the temperature. “It would appear that sometimes, work got dirty. And rather than send a worker home…”

“They’d have them take a shower here,” Bright finished. “So what? Play house with me and Gil? You know they’re coming for you.”

“I know,” Martin turned, remaining outside of the reach of the water as he guided Malcolm in. “But for now, let’s not think about it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Martin returned with Malcolm about ten minutes later. Gil let a sigh slip. Part of him was surprised that Malcolm hadn’t tried anything on his little trip. He was uncuffed, FBI trained and far younger than Martin. There could only be two possible reasons for his acquiescence. The first reason being - he feared that if he tried something, things could go south and it could get the unlucky lieutenant killed.

He pictured Bright taking swings at Martin, but Martin was a head taller and much more solid. Plus, Malcolm was just fucked boneless on Gil’s cock. Not to mention, all they’d had to eat for two days was a bottle of Ensure. And what if Malcolm had managed to slip through Martin’s fingers? Then what?

They had no idea where they were. Gil was still half-naked, handcuffed and chained to the wall. What if Malcolm couldn’t find the key in time and Martin caught up to him?

Fuck. Rather than be mad, Martin would probably enjoy the challenge.

Arroyo could easily picture him grinning with a mouthful of blood and an armful of squirming Malcolm. As punishment for even daring an escape, Martin would probably resort to spanking Malcolm.

Gil sucked in a breath and shifted, attempting not to picture that, and trying and failing not to be affected by the fact that he was.

Imaginary scenarios aside...the bigger question was...would Malcolm even *want* to hurt Martin?

And there was the second possibility for Malcolm’s acquiescence - an actual desire to be here. Loved by the killer, screwed by him, tucked safely into the absurdly fucked up world the three of them had built. Despite what they had endured, Gil had never seen Malcolm so...calm.

When he slept, he rested peacefully against Gil’s shoulder. When he came down from being fucked, all of his nervous, vibrating energy seemed to dissipate and be replaced with peace.  
Gil knew that Malcolm was a complex individual, but this was a level of complexity that - before this - he wouldn’t have been able to fathom.

He ought to be...worried...repulsed...something. But all he felt towards Bright was the same warm care and concern that he’d always felt. Only now it was mixed with the attraction he could no longer deny. And if he peeled even that back and dared to look, there was love there as well. Not the familial kind of love - not anymore. This love hurt. It burned. It made Gil want to tether the kid to his bed and fuck him into the mattress.

“Lost in thought?” Martin said with a chuckle.

Gil stared up at him, jolted from his trance.

“Whatever you were thinking...it looks good on you,” Martin purred and something electric slide down Gil’s spine.

Arroyo belatedly realized that his pants were still down and his cock was trying to resurge. He snapped his jaw shut tightly and shook his thoughts away. Silently, he watched as Martin moved to chain Malcolm to the wall once again. The young man’s hair was wet, but Whitly’s wasn’t.

“You didn’t take a shower?” Gil questioned, staring at the wild gray locks that went in every direction.

“Not yet,” Martin smiled, turning away from them. He moved towards a duffle bag, crouching, unzipping it and grabbing something inside. “I thought that I’d save the shower for you and I.” He stood once more and they could see that he was holding a small cup of Jell-O.

“I hope that’s alright with you, my boy,” Martin smiled warmly, coming down to his level and peeling the lid off the Jell-O.

“Y-yeah,” he said timidly. “I just...I just don’t want you to hurt him.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Martin dipped the spoon inside, puncturing the somewhat solid surface of the unnaturally orange substance. He got a spoonful and brought it to Malcolm’s mouth. His boy swallowed and he gave him more water as well, bringing the bottle to his lips and tipping it gently.

He fed the entire container to Malcolm, prompted him to finish the bottle of water, and then brushed a few wandering locks of his hair back into place.

“Don’t...don’t force him to do…” Malcolm started, but let the words fall away.

“Don’t rape him?” Martin finished.

Malcolm’s lips parted and he sucked in breaths too quickly.

“I’m not a rapist sweetheart,” Martin smoothed his hand over his boy’s cheek.

“Nope...just a murderer,” Gil couldn’t help himself. He very nearly mentioned the incest as well, but...but Malcolm was the one who started that train rolling so he bit back the words. He could never hurt Malcolm. Never. And he certainly couldn’t judge him. No. Not after all he’d been through.

But Gil could judge himself. And he did. He burned with the guilt. It’s sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside out.

Martin scooted closer to Arroyo and brought his large palm to the detective’s face. He let it slide down the tan flesh. Thumb brushing his cheekbone, the scruff of his (now unruly) goatee, and drifting to his neck.

“Should I trust you?” Martin whispered. “I grabbed this out of my bag,” he held up a syringe that Gil hadn’t even seen him holding before that moment. His heart beat erratically in his chest as fear rolled through him.

“I want to clean you up, but I also don’t want any attempts at escape,” Martin feigned conflict. “I can give you this more powerful sedative. Or...I can give you three of these Benadryl,” he opened his other hand. “I just want your reaction time a little slower in case you try something. That’s all. But I think you’d enjoy our shower more if you were more lucid. So what’ll it be?” he moved his hands up and down as if he were weighing the items.

Gil’s eyes moved from the glinting syringe needle to the three bright pink pills in Martin’s other palm.

“Any chance I could talk you into two Bendadryl instead of three?” Gil tried. “Those things seriously mess with me.”

Martin huffed. He could feel Malcolm’s eyes hot on his left cheek. His boy was silently pleading with him to play nice.

“Fine. Two it is,” Martin took the syringe, aimed it towards the floor and pressed down on the plunger. The liquid inside hissed to the floor in a steady stream.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of the sedative,” Martin replied, “so that it can’t be used against me. Drugs are like weapons,” he tossed the empty vessel to the far side of the room. “If you have a gun and you’re not willing to use it, odds are it’ll be used on you. Same with medicine. So now it’s off the table entirely.”

He twisted and got another bottle of water. “Open up.” Gil did as he was told, parting his lips widely, and Whitly dropped two neon pink pills on his tongue and then gave him the water.  
“Do I have your word that you’re not going to try anything during our little excursion to the shower?”

Gil huffed in disbelief. He looked over at Malcolm. The kid couldn’t really expect him to make that promise, could he? But Bright couldn’t even meet his eyes, he looked away guiltily. Gil’s focus returned to the scruffy surgeon.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Fine. You have my word that I won’t try anything.”

Martin’s face split wide with a smile. “Good. Glad to hear it,” he reached behind Gil and began to unchain him from the wall and undo his cuffs. Gil felt so damn grateful to be rid of the metal bracelets that he began to better understand Stockholm syndrome.

“You’re going to be a bit wobbly after not standing for so long,” Martin helped him to his feet. “And a bit weak from not eating very much.” Without thought, he reached out and pulled Gil’s pants and underwear up, not bothering with the belt but managing to draw the zipper up and do the button.

‘He wasn’t wrong,’ Arroyo thought. Gil felt light as a feather, swaying dangerously before Martin steadied him. “I bet the Benadryl isn’t helping either.”

Martin laughed. “Oh my, well, just imagine if I’d given you the hydroxyzine instead.”

Whitly looked down at his boy. “Will you be alright here alone for fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Good,” Martin left Gil’s side for just a second to retrieve a plaid flannel blanket and give it to Malcolm. “Get as comfortable as you can,” he leaned down and kissed the crown of his head.  
“Let’s go Lieutenant,” he turned back to the cop and put a hand on the small of his sweat-stained back. Steadily, he guided him towards the door.

As soon as they had left Mal behind and rounded the corner, Gil eyed Martin sideways. “You know this isn’t sustainable,” he started. “My team is coming for you.”

If Gil wasn’t mistaken, he saw...sadness...flash across Martin’s features. “Nothing good ever lasts,” was the monster’s somber response.

“Once you were out you could have just run,” Gil tried not to trip over his own feet as he followed Martin through what appeared to be an abandoned factory. “Why kidnap us?”

“Maybe some things are more important than running,” Martin replied.

“Like fucking your own…” he couldn’t say it. The word “son,” died on his tongue, unable to slip through the knot it was hung by.

“Malcolm’s the one who initiated that and you know it.”

“You didn’t have to go with it,” Gil chided. “He’d been kidnapped. Was scared to death. He wasn’t...isn’t...in the right frame of mind.”

“Is there? A...right...frame of mind for fucking your father?” Martin ushered Gil into the bathroom. “You heard it from his own lips. He’s wanted me from the moment he was able to hold his hard cock in his fist.”

Gil’s breath caught.

“And he’s wanted you for nearly as long. So here we are. Both giving him what he wants.”

Gil turned towards him angrily. “What he WANTS is for this nightmare to be over. What he wants is to GO HOME.”

“Is it?” Martin questioned, head tilted, words genuine.

The worst part was that Gil couldn’t refute Martin’s unspoken assessment that Malcolm was not, in fact, clawing to get away. He was not desperate to go home. Quite the opposite.  
“Come on, let’s take a shower,” Martin walked towards the open stall which was nothing more than two temperature knobs and a rusting shower head. He turned the water on and then reached for his shirt.

Gil hadn’t seen him completely naked yet and something dark ached in his stomach, which was rapidly followed by guilt.

No. He shouldn’t be feeling these things. It was because he’d been kidnapped. His life was in danger.

Wasn’t it?

Except...it wasn’t. He couldn’t even convince himself of the lie. Instead of trying, he watched in abject fascination as Dr. Whitly undid his own fly and came towards Gil with a walk that was nothing short of a saunter. He arrived right in front of Arroyo. Despite being two inches shorter than the lieutenant, the energy he radiated seemed to make him a whole head taller and far more daunting than ought to be possible.

“I can help with you with your clothes,” Martin reached out his fingers and brushed them down Gil’s clothed chest. Arroyo forgot how to think for a moment. He was so fucking torn. He had one foot firmly planted in guilt and disgust and the other dug snugly into lust and need.

Martin just tore at his sanity with the scalpel edges of his sharp smile.

“I don’t know if you recall, but just moments ago your cock was filling my ass with the come that’s still leaking from it. So I’d say that we’re past the awkward moments phase. Let me undress you.”

Gil nodded ‘yes’ and Martin’s fingers got to work. As Martin worked, he let Gil’s dirty clothes fall to the disgusting floor.

“I really don’t want to put those back on when this is over,” Gil stared down at the puddles of black and gray cloth.

“You won’t have to. I brought you sweatpants and a t-shirt,” he assured as he slid the last of Gil’s clothes off, which happened to be his boxers. Unfortunately, this put Martin in the position of kneeling on the grimy floor, staring up at a very nude, very exposed Gil.

Arroyo swallowed dryly, disturbed at how greatly affected he was by the sight of the monster on his knees before him.

“I - I don’t have two in me,” Gil said suddenly, unsure why he felt the need to voice this. Martin rose to his feet slowly, still sporting that maddening grin. Perhaps it was said in response to the view at Gil’s feet. Martin’s pants were still on, but his fly was open and his arousal was evident. “I don’t know how you have two in you…”

“It’s amazing how sex-starved a man can become after spending twenty years without so much as a caress," he lulled his head from side to side, debating whether to say what he ended up uttering next. "I may have also taken a little blue pill,” he grasped Gil’s chin as if they were well-weathered lovers and this conversation were normal. “I have another if you’d like it?”

“So you brought me up here so that I could fuck you again?”

“What? Nooo,” Martin pretended to be accosted by the thought. “Don’t be silly. I brought you up here so that -I- could fuck you.”

Arousal wrapped around Gil’s throat and choked out whatever response he might have had.

“I suppose you don’t have to be hard in order to be speared on my cock...but I certainly think it would make it more enjoyable for you,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pill before hooking his thumbs into his waistband and dragging his pants off along with his underwear. The fact that Gil’s eyes followed hungrily didn’t escape his attention.

Now they both stood naked, waiting. For what, neither was quite sure. Gil reached towards Martin’s hand and retrieved the pill. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed dryly before walking into the spray.

Martin followed him in, instantly pressing up against his back as he let his hands slide down Gil’s chest.

“This is wrong on every level,” Gil noted. The words were meant to convince himself. There was no point in trying to convince Martin who’s hard cock was slotted between his cheeks.  
“Who knew that you’d been fucking the wrong Whitly this entire time?” Martin whispered into Gil’s ear after kissing his neck.

Arroyo’s blood ran cold and his body froze.

“What? Surprised that I know about you and Jessica? You shouldn’t be. I’m a smart man.”

“So this is where you kill me?” Gil stated, the words falling flat against the tile.

Martin laughed, the movement reverberating against Arroyo’s back. “No...this is where I fuck you,” his nails dragged down his sides. “When you think about it...if you added Ainsley, you’d have fucked the entire family.”

Gil felt his stomach turn but it wasn’t enough to eviscerate his arousal.

"And they say that I'm the twisted one."

“Do you think this is funny?” Gil’s voice was strangled. Martin just kept kissing the join of his neck and shoulder before biting into the skin sharply. Gil started, jumped in Martin’s arms, but Whitly’s grasp only tightened.

He pulled away and bit at Gil’s earlobe. “No. I don’t think this is funny. I do, however, think it’s fate.”

Arroyo gulped. “Didn’t figure you for the sentimental type.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” Martin let go of Gil to reach for the soap he brought. He poured it into his hands and began to caress his soapy hands over Gil’s muscled body.  
“W-what are you doing?”

“Bathing you,” Martin said, his eyes dark, skilled hands only stopping to grab a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. He handed it over to the still stunned cop. “You can do your hair while I wash the rest of you.”

“Gee thanks,” he took it and put some in his hands. He tried to focus on his own fingers on his scalp rather than the doctor’s roaming digits. For whatever reason, this was not what he had expected. He thought that Martin would be pressing him into the tiles, violently fucking into him...not...bathing him.

His cock strained and ached as Whitly’s hands explored him thoroughly. He’d brush his thumbs over Gil’s nipples. Stopping to lick them, kiss them, bite them, tweak them. It left Arroyo’s lungs empty and his cock leaking onto the shower floor.

Martin dragged his nails viciously into Gil’s hips, drawing blood to the surface only to lick it away.

When he got on his knees again, Gil felt his chest tighten. Martin carefully and diligently soaped up every inch of Gil. Paying plenty of attention to his cock and balls, the space behind them, and the space behind that. Sliding his fingers through Gil’s crack, fingertip swirling at his entrance before brushing past it.

Before Gil could panic, Martin licked a stripe up his cock and Gil’s hands flew to grasp at his head of damp curls between his legs. The shampoo and conditioner was washed out and long forgotten as Martin lavished his arousal with his tongue.

“Y-you seem to know wh-what you’re doing,” Gil couldn’t help the way his hips gave little jerks forward as Martin swirled his tongue around the head of his cock. He followed the vein that wrapped around the left side of Gil’s cock and then pressed his tongue into the weeping slit.

Martin slid his devilish mouth over Gil’s cock, sliding down as far as he could go before bobbing back up. He rolled Gil’s balls in his hand and brought his other hand to Arroyo’s ass to grasp at the flesh of his left cheek.

He popped up the cock just long enough to stare up at Gil. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, rolled down his plump cheeks and slid into his beard.  
“You’ve never been penetrated? Never fucked a man?”

“N-no.”

“Ah,” his eyes were warm, but the sound sent shivers through Gil. “Well I guarantee you that it will be good.”

“I - I thought you’d be rougher,” he admitted.

“Do you want me to be?”

“No. You’re - this is good,” the words fell away around the pair. The entire situation was too bizarre...to intimate. 

“Good,” Martin’s tongue extended so that he could lap at Gil’s balls. Arroyo just held onto his curls for dear life. “Focus on what I’m doing with your cock and balls, on the pleasure, and just...relax your ass as I slide my fingers in. Okay?”

Gil nodded.

This couldn’t be reality. He couldn’t willingly be giving his proverbial ass cherry to Martin to pop. Could he? He was. How had he gotten here?

It didn’t matter as that first digit breached him. It slid inside with far more ease than he expected. He thought the intrusion would feel odd, but it didn’t. Gil did as he had been instructed, focusing on the pleasure Martin was delivering to his cock with his mouth.

A second finger entered him.

And then a third.

He wondered how many fingers it would take to be fully prepared for Martin’s intimidatingly large cock.

Eventually, Martin’s movements stopped. His fingers disappeared. Gil whined at the loss, feeling oddly empty with the fingers withdrawn. “Wh-what?” he looked down at Martin and noticed that blood was gracing the tiles. Whitly’s knees were torn to hell. He was trying to stand.

If Gil wanted to get away - that would have been the time. All it would take was a swift punch to his jaw, a kick to the chest.

But he only moved to help the monster to his feet, watching as red rivulets snaked down Martin's shins.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a growl.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he moved forward and captured Gil in a shocking kiss. Arroyo was caught off guard, his lips still as stone as Martin pushed his tongue inside and plundered his mouth. Martin moved them, their bare feet sloshing through the water, and pressed Gil’s back against the tiles.

Arroyo bucked into him and began to reciprocate the kiss. He clawed at Martin’s neck before assaulting Whitly’s back with his nails. He bit harshly at his lip and drew blood. The kiss had turned brutal. A fight of teeth and tongue and lips that was blindingly animalistic. He tasted Martin’s blood and kept going after the cut he’d made on his lower lip, sucking at it, pulling out more blood. He knew that he was brutalizing Whitly’s back, dragging his nails through the flesh until the water at their feet was red.

“I hate you,” he hissed. “I fucking hate you.”

Martin just dipped his head and bit down on Gil’s collarbone. “I know,” he whispered against his wet skin. When he drew away, he stared at Arroyo with those jeweled blue-green eyes.  
“Do you want to face me or not?” he asked.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his...concern. Fuck his caring cleansing of Gil’s breaking body. Fuck his quiet loaded questions.

“If you face away, I can hit your prostate. It’ll be more pleasurable for you. But if you face me…”

“If I face you, what?” he asked in a waning breath.

“If you face me...you can face this. What you want. What we’re doing.”

Gil let out a wounded noise.

“You. I want to face you.”

The words were barely out before Martin was grasping the backs of his thighs, lifting his legs and pulling them apart. “You’re going to have to line me up, since I’m holding you up,” he informed him.

Gil was propped up. Back against the wet wall, Martin’s strong hands holding his legs up. He reached for Martin’s cock. Its length would make this easier. He’d barely lined the other man up when Martin began pressing forward.

The head slipped past Gil’s ring of muscle and his eyes snapped shut. Martin moved closer and closer until his cock was fully seated in Arroyo. “The more afraid you are of your darker parts, the more power they hold over you,” Martin bit out.

Gil’s fingers grasped at his shoulders and he watched his cock bounce, untouched, as Martin slid in and out. He was surprisingly strong beneath the layers of fleshy padded insulation. 

Shockingly so. He moved in and out of Gil and Arroyo slid against the wall at his back. His head snapped back against the porcelain and pain rolled through his skull. It didn’t matter. He felt so full. So good.

Martin’s face was...indescribable. Water wrapped around his face, dripped from his nose, hung on his slack lip. The spray hit him in the chest as he moved. He was a solid wall of power, and desperation rolled off him in rippled waves.

“M-more. Deeper. I need…” he tried to get the words out between having the air punched from his lungs.

Martin slipped out and spun him around dizzyingly fast.

“You faced it. I’m proud of you,” Martin pulled his cheeks apart and plunged back inside. Gil screamed a moan as Martin hit his prostate and then proceeded to pummel against it in earnest.  
It only turned Martin on immeasurably when Gil declared his hatred for him. When Gil shredded his skin beneath those short nails. And to know that he was the first man he’d ever been with. Satisfaction rumbled under Martin’s skin, rolling right off his hips and slamming into the cop.

His balls slapped against Gil’s ass and he grasped the other man in an impossibly tight grip as he slammed in and pulled out. His hand found Gil’s cock and he began pumping him, knowing that his own orgasm was close.

Martin bit at the nape of his neck and then rested his face over Gil’s shoulder. “I want to watch you splatter your come all over that wall,” he hissed, increasing his speed. “Let me watch you come,” he fucked him sloppily now. Desperately.

Gil’s palms were flat against the wall, trying to steady himself, but not doing a good job. He stopped looking down at his own angry red cock and instead turned his head into Martin.  
“How do you make peace with being a monster,” he asked against his cheek.

Martin never tore his eyes away from Gil’s arousal. “By doing exactly this,” he whispered over the sound of the rushing water.

With a groan pulled from his splintering soul, Gil began to come, his cock twitching, muscles spasming around the intrusion in his ass. He shot against the tiles, just how Martin wanted.  
Whitly moaned and let his own orgasm roll over him and spill into Gil.

It was the oddest feeling, being filled up with Martin’s come. He could feel it slipping out of him as Martin fucked in and out of him a few more times, trying to ride out his orgasm. Part of Martin was in him. Would remain, even when his wilting cock was pulled away. And it seemed only apt.

Gil understood now.

He understood how Malcolm could...could do things with him. He understood the total corruption that Martin wrought. The way that anything he touched seemed to turn. The way he burrowed inside with his crinkling eyes and warm smile and fuzzy sweaters. His burning brilliance. His ability to stare at the blinding truths without blinking. The power dynamic, the mind games, the sociopathy, the struggle between good and evil. He was a drug. A poison. He brought the highest highs and most psyche fracturing lows.

Martin had let go. Gil turned on failing legs, sliding in a heap towards the floor. Martin tried to catch him but only ended up on the floor with him.

“If - if he hadn’t...started...the sexual thing with you...would you ever have started it with him?” He dug his face into Martin’s pulsing neck and waited for the answer.

“No.”

“And you never...touched him sexually...before this week?”

“No. Never.”

Martin brought a hand to Gil’s head, running his fingers through his hair as the water turned cold around them.

“I know that you’re struggling to reconcile his...desires,” Martin mouthed against his forehead. “I am too.”

“You have no conscience. You don’t struggle with anything. You have no morals.”

“I do struggle,” Martin swallowed. “I struggle in that it kills me to see him hurt. To see *him* struggle. And if what he needs...if what he needs is dark and taboo and terrifying. I’m going to do it. I’m going to wade into the waters he’s already in, because I’ll be damned if I leave him there to drown alone.”

Gil’s throat closed and tears rolled down his cheeks, long forgotten as they mingled with the shower water.


End file.
